


Bequest

by frabjousday (frabjous)



Category: Revenge (TV)
Genre: F/F, Ficathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 07:58:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frabjous/pseuds/frabjousday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Revenge Ficathon Prompt: Emily/Amanda, i gave you my name</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bequest

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt and post [here](http://weasleytook.livejournal.com/435643.html?thread=2017979#t2017979).
> 
> Set in and around 1.08/1.09.
> 
> Warning: This is unbetaed and was written very quickly in a couple of hours.

This is how she sees it: if you’ve broken someone’s ribs and they’ve threatened to cut out your eyes - and got halfway there - then you’ll be enemies forever or bonded for life. Truth is, she’s always wanted a sister. A family. When she was young she used to be jealous of the kids who had screaming matches with their parents. They were the lucky ones. It meant someone cared enough to scream.

She barely recognises Amanda when she sees her. And yeah, whatever, so they’ve swapped their names and lives now; she’s never slipped up in public before, not once, so who cares if she still thinks of her juvie partner as Amanda, and she still calls herself Emily in her own head? She’s a stripper for fuck’s sake - “exotic dancer” if you wore a fancy suit - so it’s not like she’s got a lot of people asking her name and expecting any kind of genuine answer.

Thing is, she probably knows Amanda Clarke better than anyone. ‘Course there’s all that stuff she has to remember because she is Amanda Clarke now, but that was just gossip you could pick up in any old magazine. You had to look past all that terrorist stuff with her dad to get to the real Amanda. In juvie, Amanda had been the kind of girl who cheated at poker, rifled through your shit and stole your smokes if she thought she could get away with it. No one messed with her though. Well, except Emily.

Amanda was smart, but she wasn’t a nerd. She could take a punch better than anyone Emily knew; she’d just wipe off the blood and come at you with this look on her face. She could drink Emily under the table, and hell, there weren’t many people who could do that. She’d been quiet; Emily had talked enough for the both of them, but in the end they found out everything about each other anyway.

And the one thing she knew Amanda hated was rich kids, hated their rich-kid drama, like, as if people who had millions in the bank could still cry about their stupid lives. So yeah, she’s kinda weirded out by the new look Amanda has going, the clothes and the makeup, and the fact she hangs out in mansions drinking cocktails with the kind of people they used to bitch about. But that just means she’s got a plan. She’ll figure out a way to hide the dead guy, and then maybe this time Emily can stick around for a bit longer.

The other thing Emily knows about Amanda is that she cared enough to come back.

She’s not stupid. She didn’t get a cheque for a half million dollars for doing nothing - even though she’d have done it for nothing. Amanda gets to walk around with a clean-ish slate, or at least one not owned by the daughter of a famous terrorist. Meanwhile Emily gets hatemail and calls from journalists every week - though it’s more like every few months recently - she’s had screaming families show up at her house, egg in her hair (twice), but the worst are the sidelong glances whenever people figure out the connection. 

Whatever. She can take it. She’ll take it if the real Amanda can’t. She owes Amanda that, because if they switched places, Amanda would do exactly the same thing for her. She tells them to fuck off in the worst possible way, and some of the journalists go away on their own anyway, you know, when they hear about what a wash-up David Clarke’s daughter’s really become. 

There’s the bad that comes with the name, but it’s not a half million dollars worth of bad. No fucking way. She hasn’t had a boyfriend longer than a month since she’s been Amanda Clarke, but that’s probably a bonus since she can only seem to date fuck-ups like her. No, the money had been Amanda’s own way of thanking her, looking after her. Emily can dance and mix a damn good drink, but that’s not gonna get her into six figures anytime soon. 

Emily doesn’t mind being Amanda Clarke. Kind of likes it now actually. It means the real Amanda trusts her with this secret. It means they’ll always be connected no matter where they are. 

But giving away Emily Thorne - that’s something else. In the end, her name was the only thing her parents left her with, and it was the only thing she felt like she really owned, you know? Another connection - they both never really had parents growing up.

And it’s like, so maybe Emily never knew her parents really, but they could’ve been happy and they could’ve loved her and could’ve been good people, so she doesn’t want to throw that away. She’s pretty sure they weren’t terrorists. She’s pretty sure they didn’t kill anyone. They gave her Emily Thorne and that should mean something, and she should’ve made the name into something.

But Amanda had asked, and Amanda was like a sister, one that was flesh and blood that she could touch. They used to curl up together in the bottom bunk, feeling each other’s warm breath, exchanging secrets like promises. Amanda’s the first girl she’s kissed when she hadn’t been drunk or high, and the only girl she’s kissed where she really meant it. She’ll never do it with another girl either; Amanda’s too special for that. 

*

Emily flips open the passport again.

_Kara Wilkins._

Closes it and slams it on the table. 

Her mother’s name, she’d said. She’d taken Emily Thorne and now she was being handed _her mother’s name?_

Fuck Paris.


End file.
